"Sure, an' that must have been what me throat was tryin' to tell me," said Hogan with a prodigious yawn, "when I was dreamin' about the Suez Canal on the way."
"I'll get some ice," said Natello, in the same lifeless twang, as if she was used to being useful and didn't think about it any more.
"And I'll help ye, if ye'll lead the way."
They went out. Simon sat on one of the stools, put one elbow on the bar, and pushed back his disreputable cap. Zellermann set out a row of glasses, disregarded the finely representative stock behind him, and brought up a bottle of Old MacSporran Genuine Jersey City Scotch Whiskey from under the bar and began to measure out doses.
"Are you and Patrick on the same ship?" he asked pleasantly.
"Naow," said the Saint. "We met in Murmansk."
"Of course. I should have remembered. He's going to Singapore and you're headed for Shanghai."
"That's right, guv'nor."
"Have you known Patrick long?"
"On'y since the larst bar we was in. In Murmansk, that was."